What We May Be
by Penguin
Summary: SLASH. The war is over, and both Harry and Draco are trying to find their place in the world. They hadn't counted on their paths crossing - and merging.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note:

Many thanks to **Plumeria** and **Verdant**, who beta read the first half of the story, and to **Amariel**, who beta read the whole thing.

This story has been posted with Amariel's wonderful artwork in the One Chocolate Frog a Day advent calendar on LiveJournal!

Author: Penguin

Title: WHAT WE MAY BE

**December, 1998**

Harry Potter, a witness for the defence in the post-war trial of Narcissa Malfoy, had just given his testimony and left the courtroom to get some air, but as he was about to open the heavy oak door to the street he thought better of it and let his hand fall. If he ventured outside, the press would eat him alive.

Instead, he turned back and sat down on a bench in the dimly lit corridor, leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. It had been bad, having to re-live those horrible minutes in the Forbidden Forest, but Narcissa Malfoy had saved his life and he owed her.

Not once during his testimony had he looked at either her or her son; he'd only seen their faces out of the corner of his eye like two pale ovals against the dark backdrop of the crowd. As far as he could tell, they hadn't looked at him either. Draco Malfoy had seemed to bend his head from time to time while Narcissa had just stared stiffly straight ahead.

Anyway, it was over now and there was nothing more he could do for them. Anyone having Harry Potter testifying in their favour would most likely be released immediately, or the sentence would be very mild. Damages, perhaps, that of course wouldn't make the tiniest of dents in the Malfoy family fortune.

Harry opened his eyes, sighed and rose from the bench. He needed to find a bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.

Cold, pale winter light filtered through two small, dirty windows placed just below the ceiling. Meeting his own tired eyes in the mirror, Harry shuddered and bent down to wash his face as though washing away memories. If it were only that simple.

As he was drying his hands, the door swung open and Draco Malfoy entered the bathroom. He started violently when he saw Harry but didn't say anything, not even in the way of greeting, just walked over to a basin and opened the cold tap.

Harry watched him in silence, unsure whether to stay or leave. He wanted to say something, communicate something, sympathy perhaps, or encouragement – he wasn't sure what and certainly didn't know why. It was pity that stirred in him, perhaps, for Malfoy looked terrible. The naturally pale face was grey with exhaustion, with dark shadows under eyes and cheekbones. Next to him, Harry looked positively thriving.

Light danced over the sleek blond head as Malfoy bent over the basin, and Harry kept standing there, idiotically. _What are you waiting for then, Harry? Expecting Malfoy to make small talk?_

After an eternity, Malfoy straightened up, water glistening on his face and hands and dripping from the pointed chin onto the grimy tiles. He looked so helpless that Harry reached for a paper towel and handed it to him.

"Are they done in there?" He jumped at the sound of his own voice.

Malfoy didn't reply immediately, rubbing his face until it glowed pink. "Yes," he said eventually. "It was quick. Substantial damages to be paid to various people, and community service for us both. I'll do three months at St Mungo's. After that I expect we'll go abroad." His voice was toneless and flat, mechanical, and he didn't meet Harry's eyes.

"You were let off pretty easily, then."

Malfoy didn't reply, but turned to the mirror and made a face at his reflection. "I look dead."

It wasn't only pity, this thing he felt. It was mixed with contempt and a reluctant acknowledgement of Malfoy's good looks – for even now, in this state, he was beautiful. Admitting it to himself made Harry embarrassed and his voice gruff. "I was wondering if I could have a word with your mother."

Malfoy turned to look at him now, straightening his back, and Harry was annoyed to see that he was now a good two inches taller than himself. "Why?"

"Just for a moment. I'd like to… to thank her. She took an awful risk, saving my life."

Malfoy made a noise that could have been a snort or the hastily stifled beginning of a very mirthless laugh. "You've already done your duty, Potter. No need to overdo it; we all know you're a saint. And in any case, she doesn't want to speak to anyone. She's very upset about Father being sent to Azkaban, and… well." Malfoy stopped himself, his face turning a shade darker. "After all, you had done us a good turn. You had already saved _my_ life."

Then he turned abruptly on his heel and left the other boy staring stupidly at the door as it closed behind him with a whisper.

On his way from the bathroom, Harry heard running steps behind him. "Harry! There you are! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Hermione." He turned around and hugged her.

"You aren't thinking of leaving through the main gate, are you?" Before he'd even opened his mouth to reply, she continued: "You idiot. There's a back door the press won't know about, that Mr Weasley showed me after I'd testified last week. Let's use that."

It was a relief to get out into the street, to the cold air and reassuring noise of Muggle cars. Dusk had begun to fall, and so had the snow. Harry caught a few snowflakes on his tongue, and Hermione tilted her face up to let the tiny crystals melt on her skin. They looked at each other and smiled. Everyone became a child again when it snowed.

"What are you doing for Christmas, Harry? I know you won't be at the Burrow this year..."

Harry turned away. "I'm not welcome there." Next to Hogwarts, the Burrow was the closest thing to a real home he'd ever known, and now he could never go there again.

Hermione took a step towards him, slipping a tentative arm around his waist. "Mrs Weasley will come round, Harry, I promise you she will. You need to give her time. She _knows_ Fred's death isn't your fault, but she needs someone to blame while she works everything out. And, Harry… I know you've been avoiding Ron because you think he blames you too – but he doesn't, really he doesn't, not one bit. He misses you badly."

For a moment, Harry was glad his glasses were opaque with snow so she couldn't see his eyes.

"Please, can I tell him you want to see him? You do, don't you?"

Good old ruthlessly straightforward Hermione. He pulled her into a hug and kissed the cold, wet top of her head. "Of course I do. I miss him too. You can tell him that, if you want."

She smiled up at him, her face glowing pink with cold and emotion in the circle of light under the street lamp. "But what about Christmas? What'll you do?"

"I'm going to spend Christmas at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur – I suppose you know they're not going to the Burrow. Bill is angry with Mrs Weasley for not speaking to me, and Fleur hates Celestina Warbeck and all the fuss. Andromeda is bringing Teddy over on Boxing Day."

"Oh!" Hermione was so relieved and so pleased for him he could feel a tremor go through her like a current. "And now, tonight? Are you going back to Grimmauld Place?"

"Yeah, Kreacher will have dinner ready and a fire lit. He'll probably have run a hot bath for me as well. You don't need to worry about me, Hermione, honest."

They said their Merry Christmases, and Hermione turned around to give him a girlish wave as she walked away into the snowfall. Harry was grateful she hadn't mentioned Ginny even once. Ginny would get over him eventually. She'd have to. Or just join the other Weasleys who hated him.

xxx

"Hello, Dobby," said Harry softly as he knelt beside the small, white headstone.

There had been a weird light all day, as though dusk was about to fall at mid-day, and though cloudy, the sky had a pink tinge to the southwest. A doomsday kind of light.

Dobby's grave was covered with grass, and Fleur had continued Luna's habit of putting flowers on it, but it was winter now and no sea lavender for the jar. Harry gently brushed some earth off the stone and pulled away some bindweed that had wrapped itself around it.

Dobby couldn't have been lain to rest in a more beautiful place, or one more befitting of a free elf. Wherever you turned, there was sky and sea and open space.

Harry sat on for a while, enjoying the salty breeze in his hair, listening to waves crashing and seagulls mewing as the light faded. When he finally lifted his eyes, he saw Fleur in the doorway of the cottage, a silhouette against the warm golden light inside, waving him in to dinner. He waved back and gave the headstone a quick pat before he stood up.

Should he be worried about the fact that he seemed to prefer the dead to the living? The dead gave him space to think, gave him time to think things over and remember.

"Bye for now," he said to Dobby. "I'll be back."

**December, 1999**

Harry had hated Apparating ever since he began to learn, but it was the quickest way to travel and he'd had to resign himself to it.

"I'm off now, Kreacher," he called into the hallway, took a deep breath and spun around.

He was squeezed through that strange, dark, magical passage until he thought he'd never breathe again, and then emerged with a gasp on a cobbled street in Ottery St Catchpole, where he was meeting Hermione for a drink.

It was practically impossible for Harry to go out for a meal or really go anywhere without being beleaguered by press, but Aberforth's new establishment in Ottery St Catchpole was one of the few places where he could have a pint or meet people in peace. Aberforth would never allow press near his door or let anyone bother Harry in any way.

Hermione was already waiting for him at a table in the far corner, smiling and rising from her chair as he approached. He kissed her on the cheek and sat down opposite her.

"How are you? Busy at the Ministry?"

"You could say that." She looked tired but not displeased with her situation.

He'd never imagined her taking a job at the Ministry of Magic – not enough scope for her imagination and brilliant mind. But he supposed it was a reaction to the chaos of the war, after having to risk their lives every minute of the day and living with the constant, urgent need to come up with new plans. Being a very junior staffer of no consequence to anyone, sorting dusty documents into the Ministry archives, with strict rules to follow and no immediate need for independent thought – yes, he could see why that appealed to her at this point.

"You won't actually be staying on at the Ministry, will you? I mean, you're not seriously considering a career in politics?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. No, I suppose not. But I like the feeling that I'm doing some useful work... well, relatively speaking at least... while I try to figure out what I'd _really_ like to do. And you? What are you going to do? Everyone's assuming you'll be an Auror eventually, of course."

"Yeah. I don't know. It feels like I've had enough of hunting down bad guys. For now, I really enjoy doing nothing. Visiting people. Giving the odd interview. Fixing up Sirius's place."

He had planned to sell Grimmauld Place because it held too many memories for him and too many people knew where it was, but in the end he had decided against it, not least because Kreacher implored him to keep it. But the main reason was that it had belonged to Sirius. It was the only thing left. So instead of selling it, Harry had decided to give it a sorely needed facelift and get rid of the most offending objects. With the assistance of Kingsley, Hermione and Kreacher, he'd managed to dissolve the spells and wards and take the Black family tree off the wall, and had donated it to the Museum of Magical Arts and History, but however much they tried, they had been unable to remove the screaming, cursing portrait of Mrs Black. Finally they had covered it with a thick curtain, packed full of silencing spells. Step by step the house had been transformed into the beautiful place with graceful proportions and gleaming floors it had always had the potential to be.

The change was symbolical of his own mental state, Harry thought now. Gradually he had shed the darkness of his mind and emerged on the other side. From now on, things could only get better. Many of those he loved were dead, but so was Voldemort, and that had to be his starting point.

And many people he loved were miraculously still alive, like the young woman in front of him. Dear Hermione! He gave her a grateful smile.

"Speaking of the bad guys," she said and sipped her butterbeer. "The Malfoys are back in England – Draco and Narcissa, that is. The Ministry was notified when they returned to Malfoy Manor." She gave an involuntary shudder, remembering what had happened there.

"Lucius is still in Azkaban though, I hope? He ought to be, if there's any justice in the world."

"He's likely to stay there for a while." Hermione swallowed the last of her drink. "Harry, I'm sorry, but I have to go. Mrs Weasley is having a prolonged attack of Christmas hysteria and I need to go and help her clean and cook." She rolled her eyes. "The glacier's melting, you know. Next Christmas she'll probably invite you again – that is, if you'd still want to go. I know that Mr Weasley sneaks off to visit you as often as he can, but... well, I understand if you won't really warm to Mrs Weasley again."

"Don't worry about it, Hermione. It'll work itself out in time. I'm going to Bill and Fleur's this year as well. It was really nice last year. Andromeda is bringing Teddy again and they're staying for three days this time."

"Ron and I will try to come over on Boxing Day, if we can get away from the Burrow."

"Good. I'll see you then. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

xxx

Harry bent down to place a pot of small, red tulips beside Dobby's white stone, charming them so they'd withstand the wind and the cold.

"Merry Christmas, Dobby. I can't believe it's been a year."

The air was much sharper than it had been on his last visit. Both sea and sky were an ominous grey, heavy clouds promising snow before the end of the day. But Harry felt like a different person. Last time, he'd been exhausted and depressed, drained of all energy and half insane with grief. It was strange how you could adjust to the situation, how you could learn to live with emptiness and pain and eventually accept them as normal. And it did get better with time. You didn't forget, of course you didn't, you never would, but you had to resign yourself to unchangeable facts.

He knelt by the grave and sat there for a while, thinking about Dobby, thinking about all the others who had died for freedom and the right to voice an opinion, for the right to be who you are.

Just as the first snowflakes came whirling, a voice shook him out of his reveries. "He used to bring me breakfast in bed. Before someone had the bad taste to set him free."

Harry flew up and turned around to see Draco Malfoy's pale face against a dramatic backdrop of stormy sky. Like a cat, he knew how to pick just the spot where he'd be seen most to his advantage. His eyes were a clearer grey than the sea behind him, two shades lighter, and Harry was so stricken by his sleek, shimmering beauty it felt like a physical blow. Angry for being thrown off balance, he straightened his back and glared.

"What are you doing here? I had hoped I'd never have to see your face again."

Malfoy shrugged. "We've been abroad. We decided to come back." Months of exile, dismissed with a few words. "I came here with Aunt Dromeda and that godson of yours."

Harry frowned. He had conveniently forgotten that the Malfoys were related to Andromeda Tonks, and thus to Teddy. "So you're spending Christmas here?"

Malfoy laughed. "No, don't worry. It's only a polite visit. I'll stay an hour or two, and then I'll leave you alone." He nodded towards Dobby's white stone. "I heard a moving story about you digging his grave with your bare hands, or something."

"He saved our lives," Harry said stiffly, anger coursing through him. No one could rile him like Malfoy, even now. He felt fourteen years old again. "He rescued us when you'd put us in those lovely dungeons of yours to have us killed like rats."

The fourteen year old Malfoy would most certainly have laughed again, but the grown up Malfoy winced and turned his face away.

"I never wanted to," he muttered almost inaudibly into the wind. "I didn't want anyone killed."

Harry had a sudden, vivid memory of Malfoy, refusing to identify them to the Death Eaters, and his anger died as quickly as it had flared up. It couldn't have been easy, being Draco Malfoy just then. Harry could even feel the smallest glimmer of sympathy towards Draco's father. Lucius loved his son, that much had been clear in the battle of Hogwarts, and if anything could redeem him, that love would.

"Actually, I came here to see you," Malfoy said with his head bent, his words barely audible as the wind took them. Was he blushing, or was it the icy air whipping colour into his face? "I wanted to ask you something." Harry waited, and when he didn't say anything, Malfoy continued: "Is it possible, do you think… is it possible to change your mind… I mean, change it _completely_, about… about…"

His voice trailed off and he looked helplessly out over the angry sea. The snow was falling faster now, flakes whirling into their faces and eyes, getting caught in hair and eyelashes and sticking wetly on their cloaks.

"About what?"

"About everything."

Harry frowned, trying to understand what was going on. "Yes," he said after a minute, "yes, of course it is. Sometimes something happens that makes you re-evaluate everything and kind of re-think everything you've ever thought, and… yes, it's possible."

Malfoy turned to look at him, and Harry caught his breath at the expression in the grey eyes, He had never seen Malfoy so laid bare.

Yes, he had. Once, in another life; in a bathroom at Hogwarts.

"I'm beginning to think it is, too." Malfoy shuddered and pulled his cloak tighter around him.

It was snowing so heavily now, they could barely see the cottage. The tulips glowed red in their pot by the headstone.

"What happened?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that I had a lot of time to think when we were abroad. Mother did, too. She's becoming a recluse. She never wants to meet people or talk to anyone, and I think she's ashamed. Not that you'd ever understand, Potter. You've always done the right thing and been on the right side. But it's so hard, beginning to realise that you've been wrong about... well, most things." Malfoy threw Harry a look that was almost – if it hadn't been so unlikely – apologetic. "It kind of makes you feel that nothing in your life's been real. That you've cheated yourself out of something important."

Harry didn't know what to say – the whole situation was so completely unexpected. He wanted to help if he could, but…

Malfoy saved him the trouble of coming up with something to say. "It's freezing out here. Let's go inside."

"Bye, Dobby," Harry said to the headstone, and to his amazement, Malfoy flicked his wand and conjured a flower out of thin air. It was a white lily, nearly invisible in the snow as he placed it on the grave.

As though embarrassed by his own sentimentality, Malfoy turned and walked towards the cottage with long strides. Harry followed.

xxx

When Harry became godfather of little Teddy Lupin, he'd had no experience with babies or children and no idea whether he liked them or not. He was still unsure whether he liked them in general, but he did know that he loved this particular small child. They had taken to each other in a completely natural, easy and immediate way that had amazed him. Whenever Teddy set eyes on his godfather, his entire chubby little face lit up. When he was a tiny baby, he had waved his fat fists and chirped and gurgled, and nowadays the sight of Harry released an endless stream of partly intelligible chatter, rapid changes of hair colour and sometimes a spark of magic that set toys flying in the air.

At times, Harry was overwhelmed with guilt over Teddy's orphaned state, and Hermione's fervent assurances that Tonks and Lupin dying wasn't his fault, it was Voldemort's doing, didn't help at all. History repeated itself, he thought grimly – this must have been how Sirius had felt towards Harry, too.

Mostly, however, seeing his godson was pure delight. Teddy had recently discovered the joy of being stubborn and contrary, and every time he was, his hair turned a bright and fiery red. Harry found this very entertaining. Andromeda, who had to live with it daily, didn't find it remotely so, and Fleur, who was heavily pregnant, watched with a mixture of wry amusement and horror at the prospect.

Draco Malfoy obviously liked Teddy too; played with him, coaxed him to eat and distracted him when he screamed. Harry spent a good deal of the afternoon watching their interaction with the strangest feeling of being left out, so strong it bordered on jealousy. Eventually he began to wonder whom his jealousy was directed at – Teddy or Draco.

His mind kept going back to the conversation by Dobby's grave while his eyes took in the reflection of firelight on Malfoy's blond hair, the way he smiled affectionately at his aunt… Something about Malfoy had definitely changed. He was gentler and seemed determined to be nice to people. Had this happened at Hogwarts, it would have been most suspicious, but now Harry was prepared to believe in its sincerity. The war had changed them all.

After dinner, Harry found himself in the kitchen with Malfoy, relieving Fleur of the washing up.

"Teddy likes you," Harry grudgingly admitted as he charmed the sponge to clean plates and glasses.

Malfoy threw him a quick, sidelong smile and flicked his wand at some clean cutlery, which obediently soared into a drawer. "Well enough, I suppose. But he likes you better."

It was annoying, the way Malfoy kept surprising him. Annoying and quite pleasant. "I see you have a new wand."

"Yes. Got permission to get a new one after I'd done my three months at St Mungo's. So now that Mr Ollivander is back in business... and after you killed the Dark Lord with mine, I didn't want it back... I decided to buy a new one. Whatever did you do with my hawthorn wand after?"

"Slight correction there, if I may. I didn't actually kill Voldemort with it – he skilfully managed to do that himself. What did I do with your wand? Well – a couple of days after Voldemort died, I had a lovely little bonfire of things I never wanted to see again. Sorry, Malfoy, but it's literally gone up in smoke."

Malfoy laughed. "That's okay. I've just said I didn't want it back."

"Is your new wand different from the old one?"

"Yes. Mr Ollivander turned a bit pale when I came into his shop, and of course I wasn't sure he'd help me at all… but I apologised to him, for what it was worth, and he was very nice about it. You know, Potter, that's the thing that's astonished me most – how… how kind people are… and _magnanimous_. People who could just as well shut the door in our faces and refuse to have anything more to do with us. Aunt Dromeda. Mr Ollivander. Bill Weasley, who lets me into his house… and you."

Their eyes met and Harry's brain felt completely empty. This was one of the most unexpected conversations he'd ever had in his life, and he'd had a few surprising ones. A glass slid out of his soapy hand and broke against the floor; both of them jumped.

"The boy who couldn't even wash up," Malfoy said lightly and cleaned up the mess with a quick spell.

"Oh, shut up. Tell me about the wand."

"You're really interested."

"I really am."

"Well, I tried several, and the one that responded like I wanted it to – this one – is black walnut and unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches. Mr Ollivander says that it's a complex and unpredictable combination – and an exquisite one." Malfoy coloured slightly. "What about yours? Is that your old one?"

Harry started. He absolutely did not want to get into a discussion about the Elder Wand – the Elder Wand was best left in peace. "Yeah," he said curtly. "My old holly wand. It's been repaired."

"Is it true that it was the twin of the Dark Lord's? That they had twin cores?"

"Yes." Harry turned away from Malfoy and began to rinse glasses again.

Malfoy didn't persist and they worked in silence. But the atmosphere was broken, and they soon joined the others for coffee by the fire, watching tiny tree fairies giggle and wave sparklers in the Christmas tree.

* * *

"Happy New Year!" Hermione flung her arms around Harry's neck and kissed him on the cheek, while Ron thumped his shoulder awkwardly. "Or I suppose I should say Happy New Millennium!"

The glass doors to the terrace were open and icy air streamed in. Hermione's cheeks were pink and her eyes starry with champagne; Harry could only grin and hug her back, but his attention was irresistibly drawn across the room. Fireworks were exploding all over the sky, steeping the room and the party guests in orange, green, blue and white.

As Ron and Hermione started kissing and promptly forgot everything around them, Harry made his way through the crowd to a tall figure standing alone by the window, slowly twirling a champagne glass between his long fingers.

"Happy New Year, Malfoy."

Malfoy turned and smiled. "Please, let's mark the turn of the millennium by calling each other by first names. Happy New Year, Harry."

A warm wave washed over Harry despite the chilly air from outside. They watched the fireworks in silence, side by side, and Harry had the distinct feeling that the new millennium would continue to bring him pleasant surprises.

**December, 2000**

"What are you doing for Christmas this year?" Draco asked over a pint at The Three Broomsticks.

Things had calmed down enough for Harry to allow him to go places without being surrounded by press. His hero status was well established but not news any more. Sometimes people wanted to have their picture taken with him, but it was altogether more manageable now.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I've been invited to a bunch of Christmas Eve parties I don't want to go to and probably won't. I have no plans for the rest of Christmas. Bill and Fleur are taking Victoire to her grandparents in France this year."

Draco distractedly fingerpainted the table top with moisture from his cold pint. "I was wondering," he said and sounded like he was trying very hard to be casual, "if you'd like to spend Christmas with us?"

Harry froze with the glass halfway to his mouth. A bunch of drunk wizards over in the corner were singing carols, horribly off key and slurring their words, and the noise made Harry wonder if he had misheard. "Christmas with you? At the Manor?"

Draco was still looking down at the table, rubbing it aimlessly with a fingertip. "Yes. I just thought… Aunt Dromeda and Teddy will be there, and I thought you might want to spend the holiday… with them."

Harry found he was gaping. "But what about your mother? I thought she didn't want anything to do with me – you know, with my mum being Muggle-born and all that. Did she change her mind about me?"

Draco had the good grace to blush. "I suppose she did. She read some article or other about you being related to the Peverells. That impressed her."

Harry set down his pint unnecessarily hard. "And that makes me acceptable? Wow, that's just amazingly snobbish. She can't accept me for who I am?"

Draco gave him a long look above the rim of his glass. "That _is_ who you are."

Harry fumed in silence for a minute. The prospect of spending Christmas with his godson – and Draco – was certainly a tempting one, but if it meant he also had to spend it with Narcissa Malfoy, who detested him...?

"I'm sorry," he said after a while. "I didn't mean to be ungrateful. Can I think about it?"

"No," replied Draco lightly. "I've decided that you're accepting." He placed both hands palms down on the table and looked Harry in the eye, serious now. "Look, it's a purely selfish offer. Just think of me at the Manor, cut off from the world for days in the company of two middle-aged women and a three-year-old – I'll be clawing at the walls! Really, Harry, you'd do me a favour."

Harry had seen quite a lot of Draco over the past year. Something between them had been sealed at that New Year's party, like an unspoken agreement. They hadn't become close, exactly, but they did enjoy each other's company, went for a pint together from time to time and sometimes met, by coincidence or otherwise, at Andromeda's house. But Christmas was different. Spending Christmas together was _intimate_, almost like they were family – or lovers. Harry blushed at the thought and quickly emptied his glass to hide his face. He wasn't adverse to the idea; on the contrary. But although Draco had reputedly dated some men, he had never done anything to remotely suggest any interest of _that_ kind in Harry – which was rather disappointing. Depressing, even.

Harry was under no delusion about his own attraction to Draco – it was strong and undeniable. At times he watched the long, delicate fingers play with something, a piece of paper, a stalk of grass, and he couldn't help imagining them exploring his own skin and hair, and making their way underneath clothing… and then he'd have to bite the inside of his cheeks and think of something extremely boring to keep himself from spontaneously combusting. Or, Draco would reach for something and his t-shirt would ride up, leaving Harry staring in desperation at the exposed stretch of pale, smooth skin, imagining what it would be like to let his own tongue paint a wet pattern over it...

"Another one?" Harry asked, standing up abruptly.

"Why not?" Draco leaned back against the wall. "But only if you accept. If you say no, I'm going home."

Harry laughed then and went to get them another pint. And so it was settled.

* * *

Harry tried to tell himself that it was ridiculous, but the fact remained – he was nervous. He also felt the tiniest bit stupid, standing at the Malfoy Manor gates in the gathering darkness on Christmas Eve, clothes carefully chosen to be relaxed but elegant, shoes polished and cloak brushed. He had even done his best to flatten his hair, with the usual lack of result.

He carried a small overnight bag that Hermione had charmed for him to hold a couple of days' worth of clothing as well as a large number of Christmas presents for his godson. The adults had agreed not to exchange gifts. When Harry had asked Draco whether he should bring anything, Draco had replied: "Bring your broom so we can fly if we get bored!" He had still wanted to give Draco something, but after anguishing for days about finding a good, reasonable gift, he'd had to admit defeat, unable to come up with anything that wasn't either too grand, too insignificant, too impersonal or too intimate.

Now someone was coming towards him from the house – long, smooth stride; blond hair gleaming in the dusk… Harry's heart begun to beat faster. He swallowed, took a deep breath and walked through the gates. Just as Draco reached him they closed silently behind him, and Draco's arm came around his shoulders in a brief semi-hug. "Caught you."

This astonishing greeting was followed by a smile, and they began to walk side by side along the gravel path back to the house. Harry's silly heart was racing and his face burned with a heady mix of confusion and anticipation.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," said Draco as they entered a large, dimly lit hall. Rows of pale, haughty Malfoys looked down on them from gilt frames, leaning towards each other and muttering in disapproval.

"Don't mind them," said Draco loudly. "They're all dead anyway."

This caused some indignant sniffing but the muttering subsided.

"Just leave your bag here. It'll be taken care of. Let's go and say hello to Mother and get _that_ out of the way."

Harry cleared his throat. _I owe Narcissa Malfoy my life_, he thought. _I'll focus on that._

They entered a beautiful room decorated in cream and gold, large and well proportioned with high windows. The colours matched the Malfoys' own colouring to perfection, and Harry could barely take his eyes off Draco. It was strange to see him at ease in his own familiar setting. This was where he had grown up; this had been his home all through their years at Hogwarts. This was what he'd gone home to during the holidays, and where he'd spent a good part of the war. The one and only time Harry had been to the Manor before, he and his friends had been brought here by Snatchers, and Hermione had been tortured by Bellatrix. The room had been redecorated since, and no wonder. Draco and his mother would want to get away from all that as much as Harry did – probably more. He wondered why they had held on to the Manor at all. Draco's words from last year, at Dobby's grave, echoed through Harry's mind: "It's hard, beginning to realise that you've been wrong about... well, most things. It makes you feel that nothing in your life's been real."

With an effort Harry looked away from Draco to a most unexpected scene.

Little Teddy Lupin, grandson of a Muggle and son of a werewolf, was running around the room shrieking with joy, and on the floor, on a large Oriental rug, sat the cold, haughty Narcissa Malfoy dressed in expensive robes of grey silk. At the moment she was not haughty in the least, but laughing as she charmed origami birds to fly around the room for Teddy to catch. When he tripped and fell she was there in a second to lift him up and kiss him, despite the impurity of his blood. Then she caught sight of Harry, smoothed down her skirt and held out her hand to him.

"I'm so glad you wanted to spend Christmas with us," she said coolly.

There was something to be said for good breeding, he thought as he thanked her for inviting him. And then _that_ sticky moment was over. Draco was making relieved faces at him behind Narcissa's back and he managed not to grin.

Instead, he scooped up the delighted Teddy in his arms, spun around with him and lifted him into the air. Together they inspected the magnificent Christmas tree, and Harry sent a thought to the miserable Christmases of his childhood. Here, at least, there would be no peach-coloured tinsel or gifts of coathangers and old socks. When he looked up he found Draco watching them with an expression that made Harry catch his breath. Tenderness, envy, an infinite sadness… What was going through his head? Was he remembering, reflecting or anticipating? There were so many things Harry wanted to know about Draco Malfoy, so many things he wanted to ask.

Dinner was a slightly stilted affair and Harry was grateful for the presence of Teddy, who provided focus, entertainment and conversation topics. He was equally grateful for Draco, who kept the conversation light and going, and after a few glasses of wine he found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes off the tall, blond young man. The fact that Draco frequently met his gaze made him warm with more than alcohol.

When Harry was shown to the blue guestroom for the night, he wanted to pull Draco inside and kiss him, but Draco just said goodnight and disappeared into the dark corridor. Despite being tired, Harry couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in his luxurious four-poster bed, surrounded by eiderdown, silk and smooth linen. _I feel like that silly princess who couldn't sleep because there was a pea underneath her five hundred mattresses._

Images of Draco kept dancing before his eyes – the long, slender fingers holding a wine glass, his grin when he looked at Teddy, the smile in his voice as he teased Narcissa... silky hair, soft mouth, the outline of his slim body underneath his clothes...

No, that was forbidden territory. Draco clearly wasn't interested.

Harry threw the eiderdown off and sat up, rubbing his face and pushing his fingers through his hair. _What's wrong with me? I act like I'm in love. But I can't be in love with Draco Malfoy. Can I?_

The second he put words to it, he knew it was true, and it was no use trying to persuade himself otherwise. He _was_ in love with Draco and had been for some time.

Harry fell back against the pillows and swore softly to himself. How had this happened? When? _Why? _Of all the absurd, preposterous things…! But the image of Draco's face wouldn't leave him alone, and what he felt wasn't preposterous at all, but powerful and exhilarating and _painful_. He kept thinking about Draco all the time, even when he wasn't consciously doing it – Draco was always there, always present in his mind. _What am I going to do? He likes me, or I wouldn't be here now, but not like that. And all I want to do is push him up against the wall and kiss him and grind against him and pull all our clothes off…_

It was hopeless; he gave up trying to resist. Instead he closed his eyes and succumbed helplessly to the forbidden thoughts, indulging in a long, raving fantasy that involved Draco's skin and hands and mouth and cock. Towards morning he fell asleep, exhausted, with a corner of the linen pillowcase clamped between his teeth.

* * *

From a deep, dark, dreamless sleep, Harry woke up with a gasp as someone jumped on his bed, making his inert body bounce uncomfortably against the mattress.

"It's Christmas morning! Wake up!" Draco was out of the room before Harry had even focused his eyes. "No need to dress," he called. "I'm going downstairs in my pyjamas."

"Mmmnnh." Harry rubbed his tired eyes and sat up, blearily looking around for his bathrobe to go over the pyjamas. Draco was waiting for him in the hall, looking gorgeous in green silk. Yawning, Harry followed him downstairs, where Andromeda and Narcissa sat by the fire in their silk dressing gowns. Harry felt scruffy. The tree was lit and Narcissa opened a bottle of champagne, and they breakfasted on scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and fresh bread while Teddy went wild with delight over all his new toys.

Champagne for breakfast proved more glamorous in theory than in practice, and Harry was beginning to get a thundering headache. Perhaps Draco was affected the same way, for he said: "Champagne's wonderful, but I'm dying for some hot tea. What about you?"

The ladies declined but Harry gratefully accepted, and the boys made their way to the kitchen. It was a huge, cavernous place, warm from a blazing fire and filled with the comforting smell of new bread. Draco jumped up on the big, scrubbed wooden table and dangled his legs.

"Nelly?" he called. "Could you get us some tea, do you think?"

A tiny house elf, primly dressed in black with a stiff white collar, appeared through a side door. "Of course, Master Draco." Then she froze on the spot, her mouth falling open and her round eyes fixed on Harry. "Oh!" she squeaked. "Winni, it's _Harry Potter_!"

Another elf appeared, and after they had bothed stared at him for a moment, they ran up to him and fell on their knees. To his dismay, Nelly even began to kiss his hand. He tried to pull away, blushing violently and carefully avoiding Draco's eyes. "No, please… no, you mustn't do that! Please get up."

The elves looked up at him, their eyes filled with tears, and Winni whispered: "But you're the great Harry Potter! Everyone knows what you did for Dobby! For all elves!"

Painfully embarrassed, Harry tried to find a way to stop it. "Dobby was very brave," he said feebly. "He saved my life. You don't need to thank me for anything. I'd just… I'd just like some tea." His head ached abominably.

The elves scrambled back on their feet. "Oh, yes! It's an honour, making tea for Harry Potter!"

They set to work eagerly, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco's grin. "Shut up," he muttered.

Tea was produced, hot and wonderful, and Harry began to feel better. The boys sat at the kitchen table cradling their mugs between their hands, savouring the warmth.

"We set them free after the war," said Draco, nodding towards the elves, "but they chose to stay."

Harry choked. "You set them free?"

Draco shrugged. "Before we went abroad. Didn't seem fair to keep them. Father was not too pleased. Oh, by the way, Harry… there's something I'd like to show you. Take your tea with you; it's a bit cold up there."

Thrown by the unexpected piece of information, Harry followed Draco's silk-clad back through a side door and up a narrow staircase. Setting house elves free was quite a radical action for an old pure-blood family. For anyone, really. No wonder Draco had smirked, teasing Harry at Dobby's grave! Harry who hadn't even considered releasing Kreacher. Would Nelly had kissed his hand if she had known that? Shouldn't she be kissing Draco's?

The stairs ended at a wooden door which seemed to lead to the attic. It opened with a slow creak, and they stepped into a bare, chilly room. Over by the window, Draco's majestic eagle owl hooted sleepily as they entered, and then something came swooping from the other side of the room in a white flash and settled on Harry's shoulder.

It was a snowy owl, very like Hedwig, only perhaps a little larger. It touched Harry's ear with its beak just like Hedwig used to do when she was pleased, and he felt his throat tighten ominously.

"This is Helix," he heard Draco say. "He's yours if you want him."

Harry's eyes stung and he had to clear his throat. He had no earthly idea what to say, and words came tumbling out of his mouth unsorted and unconnected. "Draco, I… I don't know what to… How did you... Yes, of course I'd like to keep him. He's beautiful."

He tried to collect himself while they fed the owls, and Helix was sent off to Grimmauld Place with a note for Kreacher to take good care of him.

"Thank you," said Harry a little shakily to Draco as they went back down the stairs. "I feel stupid now – I have nothing for you. You really needn't have…"

"I know. I hadn't planned to get you anything, but then I came across Helix… I remembered what you'd told me about your owl, that she'd been killed, so I bought him for you."

It seemed impossible for Harry to regain equilibrium. He couldn't take it all in. The thought of Draco _thinking_ about him, remembering things he'd said and caring enough to get him something so personal... it was overwhelming.

Downstairs, Teddy demanded his godfather's attention, and Harry was glad to be distracted. After lunch, Draco suggested they should go flying. It was a glorious afternoon, with a sharp, cold wind whipping colour into their faces and the pale winter sun gleaming on Draco's sleek hair. Their old competitiveness awoke and they tried to outdo each other with loops, tricks and speed, shouting and laughing and trying to make the other fall off his broom. While they were flying, an idea formed in Harry's mind, a wonderful means to combine two important things – conveying his gratitude to Draco and have him all to himself.

In the evening he got ready to leave Malfoy Manor, thanked Narcissa for her hospitality and said goodbye to Andromeda and Teddy. Just as he'd hoped, Draco followed him to the gate.

"Thanks for saving me from the most awful Christmas boredom," said Draco, leaning against the gatepost. "Mother was pleased, too – I could tell. I think you can count on more invitations." He made a wry face.

Harry laughed. "Well, I _am_ related to the Peverells after all. Anyway, I'm glad you asked me here, and thank you again for Helix. Listen, are you doing anything for New Year's Eve? I thought maybe… maybe you'd like to come to Grimmauld Place?"

There was a pause, and Harry tried to see Draco's eyes to gauge his reaction, but his head was bent and his face in shadow. When he replied, his voice was soft and low: "I'd like to. Are you having a party?"

"No," said Harry, his heart racing, "it would only be you and me. If that's okay with you."

He swallowed nervously. Draco looked up then, his face catching the light from the lamppost. He was smiling. "That's more than okay. I'll see you then."

He turned and walked back to the house, and when Harry heard the door shut, he shook his fists in the air in silent triumph. _Yes!_ "More than okay," Draco had said. Whatever that meant, it must be something good.

* * *

When Harry went to bed on the penultimate day of the year, he reflected that one more week like this one would give him a heart attack. The feeling was much the same as before a very important Quidditch game – he dreaded it but couldn't wait, his pulse was racing, he couldn't eat or sleep...

To ensure Kreacher's ready assistance with dinner and cleaning, Harry had casually mentioned that his New Year's guest was the son of Narcissa Black. It had worked like a powerful charm. The house gleamed, the pantry was filled with delicious things – in short, everything was ready.

Except Harry.

_What have I done? I have no idea what to say or do. Or wear! What if he'll be bored out of his mind? And I'll keep wanting to jump him so I'll probably act all weird… Oh god, this could be a disaster. In so many ways._

He clamped his pillow over his head and willed himself to sleep. To his utter surprise, it worked.

When Draco rang the doorbell on New Year's Eve, Harry was already waiting in the hall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Today had been better; he'd had things to do all day and felt a bit better – just as he had before a game, when it was finally time for action. He unlocked the locking spells and smiled.

Draco looked gorgeous in a dark wool cloak with a silver clasp, and snowflakes glittering in his hair.

"Is it snowing? I hadn't noticed!"

"Just started." Draco handed his cloak to Kreacher, who took it with a deep bow and vanished. The blond eyebrows went up. "House-elf? So the noble Harry Potter only frees _other_ people's elves?"

Harry's face went hot, but Draco laughed. "We'll leave that discussion for another time."

The prospect of discussing serious matters with Draco "another time" didn't make him any calmer. Confused, and annoyed with being confused, Harry showed his guest into the sitting room. The recently cleaned chandelier sparkled, a fire burned, and a small group of candles soared by the window, charmed Hogwarts-style. Draco looked around in surprise.

"This place is much nicer than I expected! Mother always said it was pretty grim – hence the name, I suppose. Oh, that's a _very_ nice chess set. Do you play, or is it just for decoration?"

"I play sometimes, with Ron mostly, but I'm really crap at it."

"Do you want to play now? Lightning chess?"

"Yeah, okay. But I'm warning you, I _am_ crap. Would you like a beer? And we'd better fireproof the table."

They hadn't even finished their first bottles when Harry lost, a sad little heap of blackened chessmen sizzling and smoking beside him on the table. After losing a second game, he laughingly declined playing any more.

"I can't meet the New Year totally defeated."

They were cleaning up after the lightning strikes when the first, stray fireworks exploded in the dark sky, making them both run to the window to look.

"Someone's starting early! Too drunk to know the time, probably."

Draco was restoring the chessmen when he suddenly thought of something.

"Oh, I forgot! I brought you some music. Here."

"Thanks – what is it?"

"Play it."

The music filled the room, clean, clear, whirling… it danced with the fire, with the candle flames... like happiness with a twist. They listened for a while, and a kind of warm well-being began to spread through Harry's body. What had he been so worried about all week? Draco was here because he wanted to be, he had brought music, and he looked gorgeous in that dark shirt. The music flowed golden, filling the room with beauty.

"This is fantastic. It's… magical. I don't know anything about classical music. What is it?"

"Mozart."

"_Mozart?_ I had no idea you listened to Muggle music."

Draco looked at him in astonishment. "But Mozart was a wizard. Everyone knows that."

_I didn't, _Harry thought. There were so many things he didn't know about the wizarding world even now. He still had no idea how to live a normal life in that world, a life that wasn't dictated by someone else.

"Thanks for bringing the music," he said earnestly to Draco. "I was going to suggest another beer, but this isn't beer music. Do you want to start early with the champagne?"

Draco did, and Harry went to get it himself, not wanting Kreacher to break the atmosphere. When he handed Draco a glass, their fingers touched, the sensation travelling up his arm like a spark. Why did he feel like this? After the war, he'd had precisely two boyfriends, and neither relationship had lasted more than three months, but surely it should mean he could be in the same room with someone he found attractive without blushing like the heroine of a romance novel?

He downed the expensive champagne rather irreverently to drown his shyness, and Draco laughingly joined him, saying he needed to keep up. After the second glass, everything was getting softer around the edges and Harry could finally look Draco straight in the eye. They held each others gaze for a few breathless moments before Draco's slid down to Harry's lips, staying there only a heartbeat and then moving quickly away. Harry stared at the other boy's smooth, pale neck, disappearing into shadow under the shirt collar. He noticed that Draco was breathing faster, his face half turned away, and Harry's own blood was thundering in his ears. _One more glass, and then maybe I'll have the courage... _The music was soaring around the room, a quick movement, like laughter. Harry filled their glasses again, moving close to Draco as he did. It was time now.

"Thank you again for Helix," he said softly. "It's one of the best presents I've ever had. I wanted to give you something too, that you'd like as much as I liked him… something personal… but I couldn't think of anything. I was trying to find something before Christmas, too."

Draco lifted his face, firelight dancing in his eyes.

"So… the only thing I could think of to give you is… this."

He put his glass down and stood squarely in front of Draco, feet slightly apart, arms down his side. The other boy stared at him, lips parting, the hand holding the glass frozen in mid-air. Harry waited. A flush crept up Draco's neck, a slow wave of blood under the white skin. _Don't wait. Just do it._

"Harry, I…"

_No, don't say anything. Just accept the gift or leave. I've spoilt the whole evening after only an hour._

Relief flooded him when Draco's fingers finally touched his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, feeling soft fingertips follow his cheekbone, touch his ear, move up and touch his scar.

"I've wanted to do that for years." Draco's voice was low and shaky, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

Harry opened his eyes and smiled, and Draco leaned in to kiss his smiling mouth. It was much easier from there, the first barrier being broken. Draco found that Harry's neck and collarbone were very sensitive to touch; Harry could finally push his fingers through the blond hair to see if it was as silky as he had imagined. He began to unbutton Draco's shirt, dipping his tongue into the hollow at the base of the throat... then stopped abruptly to stare at the silvery, jagged line running from the collarbone, disappearing under the fabric.

"Oh god, Draco. I'm sorry. That spell… I didn't know what it did."

"Shhh," whispered Draco, fingers caressing the back of Harry's neck. "It was a long time ago. Don't stop what you were doing…"

His head fell back and exposed his throat, and Harry's mouth met the warm skin as his hands smoothed the shirt off Draco's shoulders, all the while trying to push the dreadful memory back into the dungeons of his mind.

When Draco's shirt landed on top of Harry's in a heap on the floor, Harry decided it was time to move to the bedroom. He couldn't bear the thought of having Kreacher barge in on them any second. In the bedroom he was only allowed when called.

"Harry," mumbled Draco with his lips against Harry's bare shoulder. "You're not doing this just because you think you owe me something?"

"Does it feel like I'm doing this out of duty?"

Harry pushed Draco on his back on the bed, his tongue moving down the length of the scar and along the taut skin over the hipbone.

"No," Draco whispered, his fingers bunching the bedsheets in anticipation.

* * *

When they lay panting side by side in the semi-darkness later, Draco propped himself up on his elbow to look down into Harry's face.

"I can't believe I am where I am."

Harry smiled up at him, letting a fingertip glide slowly down his arm from his shoulder. "Me neither. But I'm glad you are." He sat up. "And we should get cleaned up. I'm hungry, and we don't want to miss the New Year!"

He got out of bed and pulled Draco with him into the bathroom.

_I'll never think of this room the same way again_, he thought under the hot spray of the shower some minutes later, with Draco's back pressed against the tiles and his moans echoing between he walls.

"Harry," said Draco softly as he was caressing drops of water from Harry's shoulders with a towel. "I think I've loved you ever since we were eleven. That's why I hated you so much."

Harry leaned forward and kissed him just where the jaw met the ear. "Don't hate me any more."

"No promises. I may hate you just a little… sometimes… when you're chummy with Weasley. Or if you don't give me enough attention."

Harry laughed. "Come on. Let's go watch the fireworks."

It was freezing outside but they stood on the balcony, their fingers touching and playing a secret game while they watched showers of blue, red, green and white stars spread over the sky.


	2. Epilogue The Private Tree

**December, 2005**

When Harry said goodbye to Hermione outside their office building, a group of teenagers was singing carols surprisingly beautifully in the street corner. It was their last workday before Christmas; tomorrow was Christmas Eve. There was no snow yet, but the air was sharp and frost glittered on the ground. Harry took a deep breath and smiled to himself as he headed towards Grimmauld Place.

He could have Apparated but decided to walk instead, in need of some air and a few minutes to think. Draco would be waiting at home, and Harry wanted to sort through today's work in his head so he could leave it behind.

Humming to himself as he walked, he reflected that he could not believe how much he enjoyed his life these days or how well life had turned out for those he loved.

The firm that Hermione and Harry had set up a year ago was doing very well indeed. They both enjoyed the work and were receiving so many requests they were already in the process of hiring more hands. Ron was well established at the Ministry, having begun as Kingsley Shacklebolt's assistant and then rapidly creating a name for himself, showing a surprising aptitude for a life in politics.

Neville and Luna had married last year and lived in the country, where Neville grew vegetables, flowers and magical plants in three enormous greenhouses and did good business. Luna was an increasingly popular and very prolific fantasy author, writing highly improbable stories featuring valiant Muggles struggling and fighting their way through challenges and hardships without the aid of magic, guided only by their bravery and their honest, noble hearts. The settings were abundant with such exotic phenomena as cars, underground trains, supermarkets and telephones. Her books were adored by young witches and wizards whose knowledge of the Muggle world was as faulty as her own, but also by Muggle-borns and halfbloods who put up with the blatant inaccuracies because they wished the Muggle world had been more like her depiction of it.

Harry heartily enjoyed visiting them (provided at least the visits were short), but after going once, Draco adamantly refused to go again.

"There's no point, Harry! No one enjoys it. Longbottom detests me, and that Lovegood person seriously freaks me out. You think she's completely potty and clueless until she turns those weird moon-like eyes on you and _sees right through you_." He shuddered. "No, Harry, when you visit them, you go on your own."

Draco himself had surprised everyone by entering the Ministry's Auror training programme and was currently in his final year. And now he was home for Christmas, the first Christmas Harry and Draco would spend together since Malfoy Manor three years ago, and the first that would be entirely _their own_.

Kreacher was always overjoyed to have Draco there, as he was a descendant of the Blacks, and consequently had the house in tiptop shape and had prepared more food than they could possibly eat in a month. Not until last summer had he seen fit to let Harry know that the house boasted an impressive wine cellar, and although Harry was learning to enjoy the taste of the drink he had hitherto avoided (with the exception of champagne), he would let Draco pick the wines for their Christmas Eve dinner. The guests would be mostly family but also some friends. Ron and Hermione were coming, as were Dean and his Muggle girlfriend, Kingsley, Bill and Fleur, Narcissa, Andromeda – and Teddy, who would hopefully spend most of his time asleep. (One of the guest rooms had been turned into Teddy's own room.)

They hadn't had much time for Christmas preparations, but the ones they had fit in had been wonderful. Harry had introduced Draco to Muggle Christmas music, and Draco had listened attentively with a slight frown, and now and then with an indignant comment:

" 'Have yourself a merry little Christmas', what kind of condescending crap is that?"

" 'We'll have to Muggle through somehow'? Oh, _muddle_."

" 'He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake'? That's really creepy! He ought to be stopped!"

"How could that snowman run off? Did they animate him, like you did with our snowmen?" (This comment had initiated a bout of kissing that ended up with them both naked, gasping and sweaty on the living-room floor with tinsel lavishly distributed all over them.)

Harry was grinning to himself at the memory when he reached Grimmauld Place. He whispered a complex combination of spells and listed to the sound of unravelling magic as wards relaxed and locking spells opened.

Draco was waiting in the hall as Harry entered – he must have heard the wards breaking. They stood for a moment listening to the whispering and crackling of wards and spells locking back in place, and then smiled at each other, feeling safe.

Harry took a step forward, and Draco's hands were already finding their way in under his coat as they kissed.

"Too much clothes. Get this off. I have something to show you."

"I bet you have," Harry mumbled and removed gloves, scarf, coat, and boots.

Draco impatiently took his hand and pulled him into the living room. "Ta-daa!"

The Christmas tree was magnificent, with strings of lights, frostily glittering branches and sparkling ornaments that looked as though they were made of ice.

"They _are_ made of ice!" said Draco triumphantly. "The frost is real, too. I used a freezing spell that'll keep it going well into the New Year."

"It looks fantastic." Harry cupped his hands around Draco's face to kiss him again, but Draco pulled away.

"No, we're not done yet! There's more."

"You've been busy!"

Draco stopped and looked at him then, his eyes soft in the light from the tree. "I've been thinking about what you told me, about your lousy Christmases when you were a kid. The bent paperclips and all that." His lips met Harry's cheekbone, moved lightly over his cheek to his ear, teeth gently catching his earlobe and making him shiver. "I'm trying to make it up to you."

Harry was glad that Draco turned his back then and went ahead of him to the bedroom, for his eyes were suddenly stinging. That Draco would do this for him…! By the time they reached the bedroom door, he had recovered. Draco stopped in the doorway and let Harry go past him inside, and there…

The tree was only slightly smaller than the one in the living room, and decorated quite differently. It was different, in fact, from any Christmas tree Harry had ever seen. His incredulous eyes followed the ornament upwards from the sailor on the lower branches, sporting an impressive package, to the somewhat unorthodox fairies at the top…

"Make the Yuletide gay," quoted Draco glibly.

Harry spluttered.

"Do you like it?" Draco asked, nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe, eyes wide and innocent.

"I…" Harry had to cough. Then he went closer and had to cough again. Whips, handcuffs, naked buttocks, erections… "Draco, promise me one thing. Do _not_ let our guests see this tomorrow."

"No, that's why I put it in the bedroom. This is _our_ tree. Our very own. Strictly private."

Harry thought of Aunt Petunia and her colour themes and laughed. If she could see this tree…! He drew in a breath to say something, but then Draco was suddenly very close behind him, his hands sliding round to Harry's front and down under the waistband of his jeans, making him swallow his words and gasp. "So you _do_ like it," Draco mumbled, his lips against the back of Harry's neck, his hands moving further down to savour the evidence.

"Mmmm," Harry groaned. "Oh, yes. Oh, don't stop…"

"As if anything could make me," Draco breathed.

They didn't emerge from the bedroom until well over an hour later, when Kreached coughed demonstratively outside the door and called them to dinner.

After the meal, they had coffee in the living-room, admiring the tree. They were sitting closely together on the sofa, Draco's fingers playing with Harry's unruly hair, when Harry suddenly jumped up and ran to the window like a child. "Look! It's snowing!"

Draco set down his cup and sighed, but he did join the other boy by the window, standing behind him with his arms around Harry's waist, chin resting on Harry's shoulder. They stood in silence for a while, watching the snow whirl and dance in the light from the streetlamps. When Harry smiled and sighed with contentment, Draco kissed the side of his neck and began to sing softly in his ear: "As long as you love me so – let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"


End file.
